The Origami Incident
by The Moss Stomper
Summary: Reeve comes to regret some of his life choices and commits an act of rebellion. Reno catches him red-handed.


**A/N:** A bit of spur-of-the-moment, lighthearted fun. Can be seen as a companion piece to my on-going story "The Unwelcome Guest", but stands on its own. I hope you enjoy!

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Once again, his proposal for an improved power grid in Sector 4 had been rejected in favor of Scarlet's latest murderbot design. Sometimes Reeve Tuesti wondered why Shinra even bothered keeping him on the payroll. It wasn't as if his recent attempts to justify his salary had amounted to anything.

He managed not to slam the office door behind him, although it demanded much of his willpower. The amount of paperwork waiting on his desk for his approval did not improve his mood. Reeve was considered one of the more conscientious heads of department, known for his timely progress reports and prompt resolutions to administrative issues. Never before had a stack of this size accumulated on his desk. It was probably an indication of something. His growing disgust with his fellow executives' skewed priorities, perhaps, or the temptation to strangle one of them.

Reeve stopped in front of the desk and took a few moments to deliberate over the pile of neglected forms and reports. He imagined the chaos that would follow if he were to set fire to it. Alarms, sprinklers, screaming, running... The damage would probably be a fraction of the cost of one of Scarlet's killer robots. He would have a legitimate reason to relocate to his workshop until the repairs were complete.

Shame that such an incident would generate weeks of extra paperwork. The man sighed, grabbing the first file from the top of the stack as he dropped into the cushy executive's chair.

It was not what he expected. The introduction promised mastery of the skies, while blueprints detailed an inventive approach to robotics and advanced propulsion systems. The design carried a spark of human ingenuity that ignited his love of engineering and jumpstarted his languishing creativity.

There had to be a mistake.

A look at the label on the front of the folder identified it as a proposal for some kind of experimental aircraft for the Weapons Department. Well, someone was going to be very disappointed. The design didn't have nearly enough spikes and claws for Scarlet's tastes. Reeve placed it aside with a cynical smile and one last wistful glance at the hand-drawn suggestion for the prototype's exterior.

The second item in the pile was the embodiment of everything the executive loathed about paperwork, a folder containing his department's quarterly finance report. For a second, he entertained the idea of signing it without a single look, but that was not how his mother had raised him. With the grim determination of a SOLDIER engaging an enemy, Reeve flipped the folder open.

Halfway through the first page, his eyes began to glaze over. By the time he reached the second, he was ready to admit he had been too hasty in dismissing arson as a viable option.

Reeve pinched the bridge of his nose and leaned back in his chair, giving his eyes a few seconds' rest. Upon reopening them, his gaze landed on the wayward aircraft proposal. It was a sleek design, sexy and exciting. When had his life stopped revolving around inspirational projects like that? He had signed up for the chance to make a difference in people's lives, not this never-ending slog through futile board meetings and financial reports.

He pulled the proposal closer and treated himself to a jaunt down memory lane. He recalled the evenings spent drawing up blueprints until the small hours of the night, the unbearable jitters right before his first presentation before the board, the satisfaction of bringing order to the chaos of the construction sites. The pride upon seeing the first green glow during the start-up sequence of a new reactor of his own design. Reeve smiled. That had been time well spent.

Unlike this. The smile faded and twin creases appeared between the man's eyebrows as he returned to the present. He looked down at the sheet of paper in his hands, then went still. His eyebrows shot up to his hairline.

Page two of the report had turned into a miniature paper version of the experimental plane. Reeve stared at it in confusion, followed by a jolt of embarrassment. A grown man – a Shinra executive – making paper planes out of important documents? What would his mother say?

If he unfolded the sheet of paper right away, maybe it could be salvaged without too much damage. An hour or two under a couple of heavy books should make it presentable again.

Reeve set the plane down on his desk, intending to give the plan a go, but paused as the numbers on its side caught his eye. Somehow, they seemed less depressing in this form. In fact, seeing them folded into a mockery of their importance was almost... exciting. He turned his creation around to face the opposite direction. The words "quarterly report" decorated the wing. The executive couldn't deny the tiny thrill tingling down his spine.

A quick glance at the agenda informed him that his next meeting was still an hour away. A second look confirmed that the door was closed. A toothy smile spread across his face as Reeve picked up the first page of the report.

Fifteen minutes later the desk had become the base for a small squadron of aircraft, threatened by a paper crane he preferred to think of as a fearsome bahamut. More paper was needed. A vacation request form transformed into a somewhat overweight dragon. Next in the pile was a design for an upgrade to the Mako reactor core. Classified information, very hush-hush. It made a rather fetching hat.

Reeve placed it on his head at a jaunty angle and allowed himself a grin as he surveyed his afternoon's work. Who would have guessed that a paper-enabled rebellion could be so liberating? Perhaps he should do this more often.

The office door slammed open.

"Yo Reeve!"

The executive froze, as did the red-haired Turk. The aquamarine eyes darted across the desk, paused on each meticulously folded creation and returned to the executive. Reno's face broke into a shit-eating grin.

"Paperwork day, huh?"

Reeve lifted the paper hat from his head and set it down on the desk, then sat up a little straighter. He schooled his features into what he hoped was unreadable neutrality.

"What brings you here this afternoon, Reno?"

"Hey now, no need to get all red in the face," the younger man drawled as he slid into the chair on the other side of the desk. "I get it. Sometimes you just gotta let your hair down, right? Tho' I gotta say, I would've thought you'd get your kicks from somethin' a bit more–"

"Can I help you with something?" Reeve interrupted.

He furtively gathered and unfolded the mistreated paperwork, making sure to check the page numbering to account for each page of the report. The last time the skinny Turk had pilfered sensitive documents from his office, Reeve had been forced to part with his nicest bottle of whiskey to get them back.

The smirk on Reno's face radiated both amusement and wily schemes.

"Yeah, actually, now that you so kindly ask. Could use a _favor_ , yo."

The executive resisted the urge to drop his face into his palm, regretting his choice of words. Not that the phrasing of his question would have made much of a difference once the redhead had seen an opportunity for his own gain, but Reeve could at least have made him work for it a bit more.

"What is it this time?" he asked, mentally bracing himself for the reply.

"It's my rod. Got no complaints 'bout the length, but it ain't hard enough for the kinda action I'm gettin' these days."

Reeve halted the unraveling of his fifth paper plane to stare at the Turk for a moment.

"I think there are pills for that."

Reno grinned and pulled out his electromagnetic rod for inspection.

"The casing's shot to hell," he explained. "Pretty sure there's a few loose wires in there as well."

The redhead leaned forward to place his weapon of choice in front of Reeve and took the chance to snatch the paper hat off the table, placing it on his own head as he slouched back in the chair.

"Hey, this is pretty neat. Show me how to make 'em, will ya?"

The hat teetered on top of the unruly mop like a sailboat trying to escape a gigantic octopus. Reeve felt a twinge of pity for the imaginary sailors, caught off guard by the red menace. He could relate.

The executive shifted his attention to the mag rod on his desk. The impulse to hide his face in his palm returned, stronger than before.

"What on Gaia did you do with this?"

"Smashed some mutated wolf skulls. Tough sons of bitches, yo."

Reeve studied the mangled weapon, assessing the damage.

"And?"

"Had to pry open this real heavy security door with it. Got a bit bent there, see?"

Reno pointed out a minor blemish at the end of the metal stick.

"Of course you did," Reeve sighed.

He waited patiently. Reno didn't fidget, but after a few seconds his smirk took a turn toward sheepish.

"Aaaand it kinda sorta got stuck in the treads of this big-ass tank thingie. It wasn't pretty."

The executive recalled a heated point of discussion from the morning's board meeting.

"This wouldn't have anything to do with the sabotage of one of Scarlet's top secret prototypes at the Junon facility, would it?"

"'Course not. That'd be against the rules."

Reeve wasn't sure how a seasoned corporate black-ops agent could still manage to pull off such a look of pure innocence, but it confirmed his suspicions. He smirked wryly.

"I can make this sorry piece of wreckage better than new, but it will take some time."

"No prob. Got a spare."

"I won't do it for free, either."

Reno merely cocked an eyebrow and adjusted his sailboat. His hat. Whatever.

Of all the people who might burst into his office, it just had to be the unscrupulous bastard with no qualms about blackmail. He could use the Junon incident as leverage, of course, but Reeve wasn't about to go down that road. Threats of public embarrassment were one thing. An official investigation leading to a termination of contract – in the most final interpretation possible – was not part of the game.

Reeve quickly calculated a price for his dignity and compared it to the costs of the Turk's request.

"Fine. I'll do it as a _favor_ , but I can't work without the right materials."

"Fair 'nuff, I guess. Send me a list and I'll see what I can do."

Reno would pretend not to notice that a few of the pricier items on the list weren't strictly necessary for his upgrade. Reeve wouldn't ask how they had been acquired. It was an arrangement that had worked well for them in the past.

"Alright. You got yourself a deal."

"Cool. I'll get outta your hair, then." The Turk rose to his feet with the nonchalance of a lazy cat, then snatched the aircraft proposal off the desk and waved it in the air. "I'll just be returnin' this first."

"Ah. That's why you showed up," Reeve concluded.

"Yeah." Reno released a theatrical sigh. "Here I thought I was in for a bit of excitement today, and then a theft of company secrets turns out to be nothin' more than a good ol' human screwup in the mail room. Tho' the case wasn't totally without its high points."

He grinned and directed a pointed look at the rumpled sheets on top of the paperwork stack. Reeve cleared his throat and busied himself with the task of finding a suitable pen among the several that were stuffed into the stylish pen holder on his desk.

"If that is all, I do have work to get on with."

"Sure thing, Mister Executive."

The door opened and closed. With a profound sigh of both relief and reluctance, Reeve returned to his paperwork, trying to remember how far he had gotten before the interruption. The new reactor core design was up next, wasn't it? Now where had it gone...

It took him a few seconds to realize the Turk had just waltzed out his office wearing it on his head.


End file.
